


Grave Marker

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7957708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos and Aramis introduce Marie to her grandfather. (post-series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grave Marker

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the tumblr prompt, "Porthos & Aramis visiting Tréville's grave, the first time Porthos returns from war. Porthos introduces Marie to him and/or tells her about him."

Fittingly, perhaps, it’s fresh after a rain that they can visit the grave. It’s been Aramis’ self-appointed task since the death to visit often to keep the plot clean, sweeping up dead leaves, placing flowers, replacing flowers. He knows it would mean enough to Porthos, now that he’s finally home for the first time since going back to the front – now that he can visit properly. 

Porthos hasn’t spoken much about his time at war. Before or after. Aramis isn’t sure which might be considered worse for him but hopes it’s been easier now, knowing that there are things to return home to. Porthos has been quiet the entire walk, as expected, and Marie dozes in his arms. 

“Here it is,” Aramis says, quiet, even though he knows it isn’t necessary – Porthos would know the pathway to Treville’s grave, even after months since he was first laid to rest. The path is wet, mud and puddles around them, but the sun’s touching at the slick around them – reflective and bright. Aramis squints towards the grave and leads the way, even though he knows Porthos does not need it. 

Porthos is quiet as they step up before it. Aramis busies himself, needs something to do with his hands, and kneels down to pick off a few stray leaves that have fallen onto Treville’s plot. When he straightens, Porthos hasn’t moved – is still at the foot of the grave, looking at Treville’s marker. Marie stirs in his arms, squirms closer towards her father. 

“… Would you want to be alone?” Aramis asks. It’s true that he’s mostly tagged along. He can’t help it. Porthos is back, after so long – and all he wants to do is be near him. Especially for this, especially in this – always wants to be by Porthos’ side, wants to help him. 

“It’s alright,” Porthos murmurs, and then blinks rapidly a few times, inhales sharply, and shifts his gaze away – focusing on his daughter, rocking her a little as she begins to shift uneasily, responding to the distress evident in Porthos. Stiff shoulders, tense jaw, misty eyes. 

Aramis nods, moving to his side. He touches his back and says nothing. Together, they look down at the grave. Porthos rocks Marie gently until she settles, turning her head – looking up first at Porthos and then at Aramis. She blinks slowly, and she’s still a baby and doesn’t know enough to be fully aware of her surroundings, but Aramis smiles at her anyway – his heart always melting when it comes to Porthos’ little girl. She’s still a baby but already so smart, he thinks. She blinks at him and then turns away, squirming in Porthos’ arms – reaching up her little hands towards him. 

Porthos shifts his hold on her so she can grasp a couple of his fingers. Her hand is so tiny next to his. 

“Marie,” Porthos says gently. “I want to introduce you to Treville. He’s…” 

Here, he cuts off abruptly – sucking in a sharp breath and closing his eyes. Marie makes a small sound, hand grasping at her father’s fingers. Porthos takes a long moment to steady his breath, trying desperately to grasp at the words. Aramis wonders if maybe he should have left them alone after all. Instead, he reaches up, settles his hand on the back of Porthos’ neck and squeezes. He hopes it’s comforting. 

“He’s – He was a good man,” Porthos manages, voice weak and watery. “He was a— He was…”

“He would have loved you,” Aramis cuts in gently when it looks like Porthos is about to start crying, his lower lip wobbly, his jaw flexing in an effort to hold back the emotions there. Aramis cups the back of Marie’s head, swipes his thumb over her forehead, at the little wisps of blonde hair. “You see, Marie, what your father is trying to say is that Minister Treville was like a father to him. He was a good and loyal man.” 

Marie blinks up at the two of them. She continues to grasp Porthos’ fingers and Porthos obediently keeps his hand still for her considerations. She lifts her other hand, whacking it first against Porthos’ and then settling it up against her mouth where she begins to bop herself with it gently. Aramis’ heart melts again. 

He glances up at Porthos, unsure if he should continue. But Porthos, certainly watery-eyed now, just gives him a slight nod.

So Aramis ducks his head towards her. “Marie, what your father wants to tell you is that Minister Treville was someone very important to him. He loved him very much and misses him. And he wants you to meet him now because he loves you very much and wants two important people who matter to him to know each other.”

Marie waves her spit-covered fist towards Aramis. He knows she’s far too young to understand him, much less something like this, but he likes to think that she’s listening. She is, after all, Porthos’ daughter. She’s already incredibly intelligent. Like father, like daughter. 

“Now I have to tell you about the day Minister Treville gave your father his own sword…” Aramis begins, launching into the small stories he knows between Porthos and Treville. Porthos is silent the entire time, rocking Marie gently, alternating between watching her, watching Aramis, and looking down at the grave. Aramis is so focused on Marie that it isn’t until he’s halfway through his story about Treville first recruiting Porthos that he realizes Porthos is crying. Silently, but not stopping, either. The tears in his eyes have welled up, sliding down his cheeks. He turns his face away when he catches Aramis looking at him. 

Aramis continues the stories, quieter now. But halfway through, after a quick glance around, he moves to step in front of Porthos and Marie. Porthos doesn’t look up at him, but also doesn’t react when Aramis cups his cheeks, thumbs sliding gently to wipe away the tears. He keeps telling the stories to Marie – about the one time that Treville actually attended one of Porthos’ birthday parties and quickly came to regret it – but he meets Porthos’ eyes the entire time. Porthos, lip wobbling, says nothing. 

At the end of the story, though, he does smile. Aramis smiles back, gently, and presses their foreheads together. He wipes at the last of the tears and tells Marie, “And the most important part of all, Marie, is that Minister Treville loved your father. Far more than he ever really said. But your father never doubted it. And your father knows that no matter where Minister Treville is now, he’s proud of him.” 

Porthos offers a wobbly smile, breathing out slowly as the last of the tears spill down against Aramis’ thumbs. He closes his eyes, shaky, and manages the smallest of nods to Aramis’ words. 

Aramis draws back enough to kiss Porthos’ forehead, and then drops his head down to kiss Marie’s forehead, too, for good measure. No sense in letting her get jealous, of course. Marie blinks at him some more, mouthing at her tiny fist before blowing a spit bubble towards her father and Aramis. 

After a moment, Porthos manages, “Your Uncle Aramis is a storyteller.” 

“A very handsome one, too,” Aramis says, if only to get Porthos to laugh. He’s glad when it works, a soft, tentative thing – but a laugh all the same. 

He cups Porthos’ cheek, swiping his thumb one last time. Porthos leans into the touch. 

“Thank you,” he says, and Aramis doesn’t have the heart to tell him that there’s no need for thanks – that everything he said was, beyond a doubt, true. He settles for kissing the tip of his nose instead, smiling.


End file.
